knowledge-it is as immortal as the heart of man. If the labors of men of science should ever create any material revolution, direct or indirect, in our condition, and in the impressions which we habitually receive, the poet will sleep then no more than at present, but he will be ready to follow the steps of the man of science, not only in those general indirect effects, but he will be at his side, carrying sensation into the midst of the objects of the science itself. The remotest discoveries of the chemist, the botanist, or mineralogist, will be as proper objects of the poet's art as any upon which it can be employed, if the time should ever come when these things shall be familiar to us, and the relations under which they are contemplated by the followers of these respective sciences shall be manifestly and palpably material to us as enjoying and suffering beings. If the time should ever come when what is now called science, thus familiarized to men, shall be ready to put on, as it were, a form of flesh and blood, the poet will lend his divine spirit to aid the transfiguration, and will welcome the being thus produced, as a dear and genuine inmate of the household of man.-It is not, then, to be supposed that any one, who holds that sublime notion of poetry which I have attempted to convey, will break in upon the sanctity and truth of his pictures by transitory and accidental ornaments, and endeavor to excite admiration of himself by arts, the necessity of which must manifestly depend upon the assumed meanness of his subject. THE DIVINE LIFE IN MAN AND NATURE WILLIAM WORDSWORTH EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY "Why, William, on that old gray stone, Thus for the length of half a day, Why, William, sit you thus alone, And dream your time away? "Where are your books?-that light bequeathed To Beings else forlorn and blind! "You look round on your Mother Earth, One morning thus, by Esthwaite lake, "The eye-it cannot choose but see; "Nor less I deem that there are Powers "Think you, 'mid all this mighty sum I sit upon this old gray stone, Or of some hermit's cave, where by his fire to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: 35 40 45 Is lightened: that serene and blessed mood If this 50 Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft- How often has my spirit turned to thee! And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought, 60 With many recognitions dim and faint, That in this moment there is life and food I came among these hills; when like a roe I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams. Wherever nature led: more like a man 70 80 An appetite; a feeling and a love, And all its aching joys are now no more, Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned The still, sad music of humanity, 90 Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample 135 Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then, If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief, Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. III Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound To me alone there came a thought of grief; The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, VIII Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted forever by the eternal mind,— On whom those truths do rest, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Hence in a season of calm weather Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling ever more. X Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound We in thought will join your throng, Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Which having been must ever be; In the faith that looks through death, ΧΙ And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Forebode not any severing of our loves! nels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, |